Wanderers
by AngelLoza
Summary: Set in the universe of "The Walking Dead", meet Wit and his friends, Hale, Gaz, North, Lydie, and Mar. That day should have started like every other day off from the Compound, but when their usual sport of killing the undead goes wrong, the repercussions are devastating...
1. The Game

Chapter 1

We call them 'wanderers', the Dead that walk with us, searching unendingly to quench some unknown hunger. They stumble and trip over limp ankles and broken feet, outstretched fingers clinging to the air for support, heads thrown back, eyes rolling to the tops of their skulls, bodies thrashing. Their faces are familiar and rotted, mothers and fathers and sisters and brothers, sons and daughters, all riddled by decay.

I don't recognize any of the faces; they're all strangers to me.

I stare at them from behind the red-streaked windshield, watch them catch our scent and confusedly amble towards us, sore tongues and dry lips quivering.

"Here we go, you ugly motherfuckers," Hale chuckles brightly. His wild green eyes are alive and magnetic, hungry. His smile reaches from ear to ear. His hair catches the overcast sunlight and dimly burns like embers.

Hale lets the jeep purr and clutches the gearshift with one hand and steadies the wheel with the other.

"Your ass is mine, Hale," Gaz's voice taunts over the radio.

Hale snatches the walkie and laughs, "In your dreams."

"Boys, boys, boys, put your dicks away, you can measure them later," North says; I can hear the smile catch her lips.

Hale smirks and revs the engine.

It's a game we play once every few months, when we have a break from classes in the Compound. There are six of us, North and Lydie, Gaz and Mar, and Hale and me. The objective is simple: Kill as many wanderers in the allotted time limit.

Five minutes, that's all we get. No more, no less.

Gaz and North are on either side of us, revving their engines, taunting one another.

I'm a counter; I tally Hale's body count and keep track of time. Mar and Lydie do the same for Gaz and North.

The groaning from outside sets my nerves on edge and my stomach tightens. The mass of wanderers gets closer and Hale smirks confidently.

The stoplight lingers on red for a few more seconds, the tantalizing ticking of the clock sending Hale and the other driver's over the edge.

Green.

The cars blast off, roaring and blazing like canons. Soon there's a bloody show of guts and brains and ichor as wanderers splatter across the windshield, their blood dancing on the glass like a stage.

My thumb clicks the counter as the jeep tears through muscle and bone. Bodies break and explode, sick smelling showers of scarlet douse the street in puddles. Heads roll across the pavement and the wanderers continue to stupidly, lustfully, saunter towards us, guttural moans filling my ears like the buzzing drones of bees.

15, 16, 17, 18, 19.

The wanderers are torn to shreds and detonate like fireworks, disembodied limbs twitching.

Hale rejoices and throws the car into reverse, spinning in a circle, streaking the road with red donuts.

24, 25, 26, 27, 28.

I hear North and Gaz, but don't look for them.

Instead, I train my eyes on the road, on the wanderers, their numbers dwindling as the three of them blaze through them in tandem.

The timer in my other hand reads 3:45 and I give Hale a warning.

"We got this," he brims.

At 4:05, Hale has reached a body count of 53.

"Ten…," I start the countdown and Hale skids the car and makes a sharp turn, crashing into a small group of wanderers, sending them into the air, flailing bodies resembling the liftoff of birds.

"One."

The cars squeal and freeze in unison, the gurgled moans of the wanderers mingling with the harsh sputtering of the engines.

Exhaust fumes stretch in the air and disappear in a hazy, pale gray gossamer mist. Hale clutches the wheel and snaps his head at me.

"Well? How'd we do?"

"Sixty-seven," I say.

He smiles, comfortable.

The radio buzzes and Gaz's voice shouts, "Sixty-three, noobs! Beat that!"

Hale takes the walkie and waits for North to reply first.

"Fifty-six," she admits.

Hale nods his head triumphantly and says, "Sixty-seven."

Both of them groan, annoyed.

Gaz's car pulls up next to me. Through the horrific, bloody film of red on his window, I can only slightly make out his sharp features, his dark hair and almond-shaped eyes.

North parks on Hale's left and salutes. Her car is mostly untouched by blood, just the expected smears of brain matter and withered skin. North maneuvers through the wreckage almost like a dance.

"Congratulations, dirt-bag, still the leading champ," she compliments in her usual dry tone.

"Don't get too cocky, Hale, you only got me by four," Gaz reminds him, turning on his windshield wipers.

Mar rolls his eyes and says something to him.

"Now, now, Gaz, we all have our moments. Today just wasn't yours," Hale taunts, eyes gleaming.

"Rematch," Gaz challenges.

"I'm out," North sighs.

"What? No, you have to stay," Gaz says.

"It's nearly nightfall. The Compound gates are going to lock soon," she shakes her head and starts the engine.

"Don't be a bitch."

"I don't need a car to kick your ass," she snaps.

Hale puts the walkie to his lips, "She's right, Gaz. We can't risk it."

"Come on, just one more time," he pleads.

North stares at Hale through Lydie's window, her light eyes tempted by the promise of feeling that pounding adrenaline rush again.

"What do you think, North?" Hale asks.

She squints at Gaz and tightens her long, brown ponytail, eyebrow raised and ready for the challenge.

"Just one last time," she says.

Gaz hollers so loudly I can hear him through the glass.

They follow the road back to the intersection, delving deeper into downtown Houston to bait a new batch of wanderers.

The city is mostly ruins now, haunted souls weakly crawling on worn streets, ghostly images of wanderers lingering behind once glossy building windows. They become alert and hundreds of rotted eyes turn follow us.

"This isn't a good idea," I mutter.

"Come on, Wit, it's just five minutes and then we're done," Hale says.

"Five more minutes in Hell."

"Just keep count and it'll be over in no time. We're a team, remember? I can't do this without you."

I sigh.

I watch the crumbling city around me, teeming with undead souls. They gurgle and trip and moan, all desiccated and foul.

From the rearview mirror I can see Gaz and North trailing behind us, veering in and out of the road and hitting wanderers as they dare towards them.

That's when I see it: North swerves her car to avoid a falling streetlamp as it gives way years of rusting. The car jerks violently to the left and loses control, tires imprinting into the road as it begins to run into the sidewalk and collide into a glass building. The car fades inside in a shower of glass.

"Hale!" I cry.

He reacts quickly, making a sharp U-turn and blazing towards the wreck.

I can see North reaching into the passenger seat, yanking on Lydie's seatbelt. Lydie's out, a sliver of blood oozing from a thin cut on her forehead.

Hale's car squeals onto the sidewalk, getting close to North's car.

"North! Lydie!"

Wanderers start gathering; when I throw open my door, their moans rise around me and suddenly I'm drowning in the sound. Hale and I run towards the back of the jeep as Gaz brakes next to us.

"What the fuck happened?" he yells, pulling a rifle from the back seat of the car with him.

Mar clutches the AK-47 desperately, standing guard as Hale and I arm ourselves.

"Never mind what happened, just get in there!" Hale says, climbing to the top of the jeep and readying the machine gun.

I load an arrow into my crossbow and sling the rest behind my back and run through the wrecked opening.

The stink alone makes me want to vomit and I almost do.

"North, Lydie!"

Wanderers begin to swarm and I hear Hale let out a round of fire. Bodies collapse around us, flopping to the floor in worse conditions.

A deep moan lurches from my right and I release an arrow, launching it towards the stumbling wanderer; the arrow whistles through the air and breaks against the wall after tearing through its head.

Mar and Gaz reach the car take either side, forcing the doors open.

I turn back and watch Hale watching us, intent like a hawk. He releases another round of fire and keeps the wanderers at bay. I grasp my crossbow and make my way towards the SUV, loading another arrow.


	2. The Outsiders

Chapter 2

The world is filled with ash and the air is spinning and black.

I can't hear what Gaz is yelling at me – I can only feel the blood rushing in my ears and down the side of my neck. Disoriented, I throw my arms forward, against Gaz's impossibly hard chest. I struggle into his arms and feel my stomach tighten and clench. I want to throw up, my head is so light.

Gaz keeps yelling but I can't make sense of any of it. It's all jumbled and spinning in a circle, I'm fading.

I suddenly jolt forward and I'm flying through the air. I'm weightless for only a moment before crashing into the ground, feeling my head ache and throb from where it cracked into the cement.

Gaz is quickly at my side again, strong hands pulling me into even stronger arms. I hear him whisper something almost like an apology, but I can't be sure. My neck feels sticky from the blood and my sight is spotted with dots, with circles dancing a chaotic dance against my eyelids, mingling and growing and glowing.

I can't remember what happened before this, I can still feel the crossbow in my hands even though I know it isn't there.

I hear the whirring whistle of wind and then there's nothing and we're left in darkness.

"What the _fuck _was that?"

It's Hale. He sounds close.

"Others? Outsiders, in Houston?" North says, catching her breath.

"You! Who the fuck are you?" Hale screams.

Bright lights switch on and my eyes burn.

"Answer him!" Gaz yells, gently laying me onto my back.

"D-D-Daisy!" It's a girl's voice.

"Darcy…"

"Sims…"

The two men speak at the same time.

"What are you doing here?" North asks.

"We heard the accident and we came to see if there were other survivors, but there were so many riggies-,"

"What? Riggies?" Mar asks. He's at my side, cleaning the blood off my shoulder.

"The undead, the riggies," one of the men answers.

"Rigid," North says, probably explaining it to Lydie.

"Why would you risk it?" Hale asks, his voice less severe and angry.

I groan softly and Gaz slowly hoists me up. My stomach flips.

"Hey, hey, hey, take it easy, Wit," Gaz says.

I look around and there are eight faces blinking at me. Gaz's dark eyes watch me intently.

"What happened?" I croak.

Hale kneels down and wipes crusted blood from the side of my face. His eyes are soft and worried, but relieved.

"One of the outsiders hit you on accident," he says, bitterly.

The dark haired one bites his lip and whispers, "I'm sorry…I'm so very sorry. I was trying to help…"

"Why?" North asks. "Why would you risk your groups safety?"

"Because we weren't always a group," he says.

Through the hazy lights, I make sense of the outsiders:

The girl, Daisy, looks young, maybe fifteen, close to Lydie's age. She's slight and has red hair and bright green eyes that watch me with a combined look of bewilderment, fear, and concern.

The dark haired man, the one that hit me, is tall – very tall – and youthful; his opaque, blue eyes concentrate on me intently. He's handsome and strong; I can see the curved handle of a weapon peaking behind his back.

The last man is older than the other two; his light hair is peppered with gray and he has small laugh lines stretching from the sides of his mouth.

Looking around, I see we're in a Shelter; it's an abandoned department store, one with high ceilings and blacked out windows; the doors are reinforced with steel screens.

It's Shelter 14, the shopping mall in the center of Houston. The mall is sprawling and has four floors and ornate architecture.

"There's no point on arguing anymore," Hale says, standing up. "We need to find a safe zone."

"It's on the second floor," North calls, reading off the enormous map in the center of the landing. Her back is to us and her hands trace the barely visible lines on the map. "The weapon's arsenal is in the food court, we can cut through there before making our way towards the safe zone."

Gaz helps me to my feet and the ground shakes beneath them.

"Okay, we have to move quickly. Come with us," Hale orders and stalks to the front of the group.

"I have your crossbow, Wit," Lydie says, quietly.

Her brown hair is pulled up, like North's, revealing the deep cut on her forehead from the crash. Her heart-shaped face is bruised, but the cut seems to be the worst of her injuries.

"Thanks, Lydie," I say, taking the crossbow tentatively.

She smiles and jogs ahead.

"Here, let me help you," the dark haired man says. He holds out his arm for me to take; I stare at it before taking it.

"Thanks."

He nods and helps me along.

"I'm Darcy," he says, clearing his throat.

"Wit. William, but everyone calls me Wit," I say.

"I'm sorry...about hitting you," he clears his throat, looking away.

I look up at him, watching the now dimming light cast shadows over the planes of his smooth, handsome face; the darkness sharpens his hard jaw as he clenches and unclenches it. His eyes are flickering and nervous.

"I'm fine," I reply. "Just a scratch."

Mar has bandaged the cut for now, but when we return to the Compound, it will need stitches.

It isn't until now that I catch the accent; all three of the outsiders have an almost English twang in their voices, an endearing tone very pleasant to the ears.

"How did you get here?" I ask.

Darcy pulls his lips to the side of his mouth and exchanges looks with Daisy. She nods and continues ahead, walking in time with Sims.

"We were part of a larger group of tourists visiting from Austrailia. We were in New Orleans with the virus hit six years ago. Most of our group was wiped out; I was with my sister and her friend...they're gone now."

I blink. "I'm so sorry."

He smiles weakly and continues, "Daisy lost her mother and father and Sims was left a widow. We're the only survivors."

"Did you find others in New Orleans?"

"A few here and there, but nothing substantial. You're group is the largest we've encountered. And bravest..."

I look ahead, at my friends, my family. Hale is my brother, the only family I have left in the world. Gaz and Mar, Lydie and North, they're everything to us. We keep each other safe at whatever cost. It's beautiful, thinking how these strangers risked their lives to save us.

"Thank you," I say. "For trying to save us."

He shakes his head. "It's our duty as survivors to keep each other alive."

"When morning comes, you'll come with us to the Compound right?" I ask.

He gives me a puzzled look, his thick brows locking together. "Compound?"

"It's where we live, all of us," I say.

"There are more of you?"

I nod. "At least a hundred."

His eyes are wide with shock. "Hundred? So many?"

I smile and nod enthusiastically. "Yeah, we stay in the Compound – it's a sort of an enclosed matrix of abandoned buildings."

"You have enough food and water for everyone?"

"The farmers left behind livestock and we have extra fuel for the helicopters to airlift water from nearby streams."

"That's amazing..." he breathes.

"We're here," North says from the front.

The weapon's arsenal is locked and a finger pad rests outside the caged entrance in front of the food court. Hale rest's his thumb of the pad and the machine beeps in recognition. The gate buzzes and rises slowly.

The outsiders stare at it in awe.

The lights in the food court flicker lazily, barely filling the room with a pale yellow glow.

"Arm yourselves," Hale says, pushing the cage up and stepping into the ample space.

I walk in with Darcy, watching the disarmed look on his face as his eyes travel over all the choices.

Guns and blades and bows and grenades, a variety of weapons line the spaces where restaurants must have stood.

"Go ahead," I urge, making my way towards the extra arrows for my crossbow. I load my quiver.

"It's getting dark," Hale says, walking towards me, strapped with an AK-47 and handguns and grenades lining his belt. "We need to get to safe zone quickly."

"We'll be fine, Hale," North says, carefully handling her rifle. "The Shelter is secure. If there were any wanderers we'd have run into them by now."

"We can't afford to let our guards down," Hale snaps.

"We aren't dropping our guards," she narrows her eyes.

"Guys, stop," Gaz says, slipping small throwing knives into his boots.

Lydie stands beside me, a quiver full of arrows behind her back and a bow in one hand. She straps a pistol to her belt and clears her throat.

I notice Darcy's boomerang peaking from behind his back; it's long and brown, engraved with aboriginal symbols and designs. The edges are bladed and I wonder if that's what he hit me with.

"Are we all ready?" Hale asks.

Sims and Daisy have each taken a gun with extra rounds.

"You're going to need more than that," Hale remarks, snatching up a couple of automatic shotguns from behind a counter. Daisy handles the sleek weapon cautiously, her eyes growing large and scared.

"You think that'll be necessary?" Sims asks, holding the gun away from himself.

Hale gives him a stern look. "Yes."

Sims eyes the weapon disdainfully, as if he were holding a poisonous snake. He shakes his head.

"I can't," he says.

"Look," Hale starts, "if we get ambushed at any point in time, you're going to be wishing you had it, so my suggestion is to take it. I know this place might seem safe, but it wouldn't be the first time a Shelter barrier failed."

"I simply can't," he sighs.

Hale rolls his eyes. "Then stand close to Gaz."

Darcy steps forward. "I'll stay with him."

"Come on," North yells, Lydie and Daisy at her side.

The fence clinks and shuts and we make our way through the second floor, weapons readied and aimed.

Through the skylight, I can make out the moon and the stars. Since the virus struck, the only thing that remained beautiful was the sky at nighttime. It sprawls endlessly like a black tapestry burning with small,white flames. The stars flicker and the moon paints the world in a pearly sheen.

I think back to how life was before this plague, to my mother's smile, and my father's comforting words, their sacrifice for me and Hale.

But they're gone.

Completely gone.


End file.
